


Deep Blue

by FaeryQueen07



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-31
Updated: 2010-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeryQueen07/pseuds/FaeryQueen07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been so long that Merlin has almost forgotten that he’s waiting, let alone who he’s waiting for. He just knows there’s a reason that he’s still here, alone and more tired than he can ever remember having been before. He wants, more than anything, to be free of the nagging feeling that something is supposed to happen—supposed to have happened—and sometimes, on days like this, he’s tempted, so tempted, to give up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Blue

  
It’s been so long that Merlin has almost forgotten that he’s waiting, let alone who he’s waiting for. He just knows there’s a reason that he’s still here, alone and more tired than he can ever remember having been before. He wants, more than anything, to be free of the nagging feeling that something is supposed to happen—supposed to _have_ happened—and sometimes, on days like this, he’s tempted, so tempted, to give up.

He remembers faces; the names have all faded from memory, but Merlin supposes that that’s to be expected when one has lived for over a thousand years. He knows that he’s been married more than once, has watched children, grandchildren, great grandchildren...so many, he’s watched them all grow up, sometimes with their mothers though many times without. He loved them all, but Merlin has always been aware that he’s only been bidding his time and that, that _hurts_.

It’s always raining when he visits the lake. The lake has changed over the centuries, the magic that once lay within it long since lost to the coming of the modern age. Freya has moved on, Avalon’s gates closed, shutting him out and yet Merlin still comes because he knows, _knows_ that he’s supposed to do something here. That something is missing and if only he waits, he’ll find it here. Or it will find him.

He remembers his umbrella this time, the loss of his expensive suit from last month’s visit still fresh in his head. Merlin is dressed casually as well, jeans and a hand-knit sweater he received for Christmas from his landlady, Ester, who likes to mother him. The memories of his own mother have been lost; he has a journal with her name in it, the pages preserved by a magic he can no longer access but there is no portrait of her. Instead, he lets Ester fuss over him and pretends he remembers Hunith doing the same.

He mourns the grass that used to cover the embankment and wonders not for the first time, why the city decided to pave the ground. The cold slate takes away from the natural beauty of the area, steals away the calm and comfort it once offered him. He isn’t the only one who thinks so either, because this part of the park was once bustling with activity; people on picnics, children chasing their dogs and the odd businessman and woman or two looking to escape the confines of their office. Now there is only Merlin and a bench.

He contemplates sitting down for only moment. He isn’t bothered by the idea of his clothes getting wet, but the anxious feeling has returned – as it always does when he visits this place – so he’s more inclined to remain standing, eyes turned toward the lake, his gaze unfocused.

The pull is strong, like a siren’s call luring him in, with the promise of happiness and perhaps pleasure. Merlin lets his feet carry him toward the edge of the flagstones, feels the rain bouncing off his umbrella and wants. Wants to be free, unburdened by his unending life because if there was ever anything in it that made him feel complete, fulfilled, it disappeared long ago, taking with it every memory he had of that life.

There isn’t a soul in sight and Merlin glances down at the water, sees the choppy waves the late autumn storm has created and wants. _Wants_. And he could, he knows, because there is no one left to mourn him. His last child passed away months before, the tragic victim of a car accident, and the others—the many times great grandchildren—do not know, can _never_ know him. The only thing holding him back is himself and he decides, with a calm he hasn’t felt in years, that he is done. He has lived more lifetimes than any man should ever have to and he wants to rest, to let the world progress without him.

It’s an easy thing, casting aside his umbrella. The rain is cool against his skin, soaking into his clothes slicking his hair down until it’s plastered to his skull. For a moment he contemplates toeing off his shoes and shedding his sweater, but then he realizes that they’re more of a help than a hindrance. The weight of them will help pull him down faster, make the whole thing end that much more quickly.

Merlin doesn’t hesitate at the water’s edge. He’s had centuries of hesitating, of second guessing his desire to move on and leave behind the empty existence he’s found himself locked into. He leaps in feet first, and sucks in a sharp gasp that is part air but mostly water at the shock of how cold the water is. He coughs, sucking in more fluid and he can feel it filling his lungs, choking off his airway. He’s already dizzy from lack of air, and it’s a struggle not to force his way back up to the surface, to expel the water that’s slowly killing him, but he does. He pushes away from the world above, lets himself sink further into the lake until his foot hits the bottom. From there it’s an easy thing to hook the toe of his shoe into a tangle of underwater shrubbery.

He can see the light, dim and fractured as it is through the water, and for just a moment, Merlin regrets. Then everything becomes dark and blurry; his thoughts fade and his body grows heavy, slowing as death seeps in. As his eyes drift shut, he hears the voice of an angel calling his name and Merlin smiles, finally letting go.

***.*.*.***

_The smile is cocky, pleased and smug in the same turn and in that moment, Merlin doesn’t care that he’s embarrassed. He glances to the side and sees Gwen_ —Gwen!— _smiling cheerfully up at him and he returns it, realizing as he does so that he’s missed her terribly. Missed them all._

_The scene around him fades, and Merlin thinks that maybe it was a dream, but then he sees the same smile. This time he pulls back, takes in the light blue eyes, the hair that blazes like the sun and the broad shoulders. He knows this face, can feel the name clawing its way up out of the mess of long-lost memories and he wonders why this person is so much harder for him to remember._

“Goddamn you, _breathe_!”

_The face disappears and another floats up. Strong, ethnic features, wavy, dark hair and a warm smile._ Lancelot _Merlin recalls. And Gwen. They’re standing close, hand in hand and Merlin can feel the weight of someone else’s hurt, sadness and jealously washing over him. He knows even before he turns that it will be the unnamed man, the person whose face Merlin cannot put a name too._

“Idiot. I was _on my way_! Don’t you _dare_ do this now. Not after I’ve waited this long! Not now that I remember!”

_Then it’s Morgana, face pulled tight with terror as she gasps for breath and Merlin is hit with the devastating guilt all over again. He had nearly killed her that day, and now that he remembers, he wishes he could forget again. Forget the rage that followed her inadvertent retribution for his betrayal._

And then... _then_ Merlin remembers.

Arthur.

He cannot believe he ever forgot.

His eyes snap open and for just one single second, Merlin is in despair because he’s still alive, still breathing and know he remembers that it was _Arthur_ he had been waiting for. Arthur, who had never come back to Merlin like he promised. Then he sees. And oh god, Merlin goes from shocked dumb to sobbing as he reaches out, cups his hands to the rough cheek.

“You came,” Merlin whispers, heart in his throat. He can’t believe what he’s seeing, what he’s feeling and he forgets how much his chest aches, how his whole body _hurts_ because Arthur is _right in front of him_.

Arthur lets out a laugh that is choked with emotion and he swallows twice before he finds his words. His hands are mirroring Merlin’s, the strong thumbs sweeping over Merlin’s pronounced cheekbones.

“I was there all along, I just couldn’t find you, find my way back. All my memories of Camelot were gone.” He sounds regretful, guilty almost. “When you died—and we will be having a _long_ chat about that later—it was like some blanket had been lifted away. I was sitting just over there.” He tips his head toward the far end of the park, a small little nook Merlin had never noticed before and it hurts to know that Arthur had always been so close.

Merlin closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, lets his lungs—still screaming from his short-lived death—fill with Arthur’s scent and when he opens his eyes, Merlin knows. There is still more to come. No doubt the others are waiting too, lost in this new world and needing help to find their way back, but that can wait because Arthur has finally returned to Merlin.


End file.
